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wykart · 5 years

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Delilah’s Masterwork

It’s here, the AU that no one was waiting for... it’s the one where Delilah succeeds in the DLC and is now empress (yay)

Summary: When Daud falls to Billie Lurk after the Overseers storm the flooded district, there is no one left to stop Delilah from finishing her masterwork and stepping into Emily Kaldwin's skin. Forced to flee, Corvo tries to uncover the ritual that has taken his daughter, along with a few remaining Whalers still loyal to Daud. Meanwhile, in the capital, Delilah rules her empire with Breanna and Billie by her side, uniting the Whalers and her coven into an unstoppable occult force. But, Delilah has her eyes set on a greater prize; to be worshiped throughout the isles, and to take the throne of the Outsider himself.

read chapter 1 under the cut or here on ao3

When Pretty Emily woke one day,

She saw the world a different way,

Her eyes now looked with a stranger's guile,

Her dainty mouth smiled a stranger's smile,

Her hands now worked the stranger's wrath,

Her feet now walked a stranger's path,

Emily fed, another grew stronger,

The stranger's cravings drove her onward,

And no one who looked on Emily's face,

Ever guessed who ruled in Emily's place.

- Delilah Copperspoon, 1837

...

“Corvo, are you there? It’s dark. It’s so dark, and I don’t know where I am.”

Corvo wrestled the key into the lock, the blood of Farley Havelock still wet and glistening on his blade. The old Admiral lay dead on the newly laid carpet of King-sparrow Lighthouse, his betrayed comrades Martin and Pendleton slumped over their poisoned glasses at the banquet table. The killing was over, though he feared that the worst was yet to come. The guards patrolling the fortress still wanted him dead, and his head carried a thirty-thousand coin bounty across the isles. Convincing the public of his innocence was going to be difficult, even with the evidence of journals and audio graphs that Havelock had so carelessly left behind. That was, if there was a public to convince at all. The plague didn’t care who was empress, no matter what Teague Martin preached at the Abbey. Noble blood couldn’t save them from the doom of Pandyssia.

The lock clicked, and he pushed on the gold-ornamented wood tentatively – bracing for some new threat to spring forth at him. Instead, he found Emily, just as Havelock had said, standing patiently in the centre of the room. Emily wasn’t patient.

“Royal Protector,” she said, voice cold and clear. He tried not to appear hurt, usually the girl would jump joyously at the sight of him, or at the very least call him by name. He cursed the loyalists once more, wondering what they had done to her to change her manner so. He took it in his stride, as he did so many things, and pulled off his mask – hopefully for the last time.

“Emily,” he said, offering her a hand. She ignored him and continued past, brown eyes indifferent – moving up the stairs towards Havelock’s commanding office. She didn’t even comment on the body of the Admiral growing cold by the door. “Emily!” He tried again, as her footsteps echoed sharp and tinny on the metal stairs. No response. He was making to follow her when she switched on the Admiral’s microphone – a broadcasting station to the whole island.

“City watch, this is your Empress, Emily Kaldwin.” She didn’t sound like herself. A regal, ancient tone resonated in her young voice. "Guards to the inner chambers immediately! Corvo Attano has broken through our defences.” At that he sprung up steps with the heightened speed and agility that drew from the void between the world. In less than a moment he was by her side, reluctantly pulling the mouthpiece from her hands. “The Admiral is dead,” he muffled voice still rang through. “Protect me!” That was the moment when his hand closed over hers, and he saw the truth plainly. “Protect your empress!” She cried, this time in a woman’s voice – deep, clear, and sharp as his sword. She turned to him in alarm, and there were her eyes – icy blue and uncaring. In his shock, he almost missed the first shot as it rang out through the lighthouse foyer – an elite guardsman firing a sturdy pistol up towards the landing.

He grasped the fabric of time and pulled it to a stop. The world was grey and swimming before him, that awful drumming and buzzing in his ears as if he were being dragged down deeper and deeper. Emily’s hand was frozen and ghostly white in his own, but something moved and shimmered around her. Concentrating, the being came into focus, and the smoke formed a face, jaunted and pale. It smiled.

“What have you done to Emily?” He demanded.

Its grin only grew wider as it spoke, that same tone of voice that Emily now spoke with. “I’m afraid that precious Emily is gone, Lord Protector. Only I am here now.”

“Who –“ the slowed, droning cry of one of the guards sounded as Corvo’s grip over reality faltered. He couldn’t hold it in place much longer.

“I’d hurry if I were you, dear Corvo,” she teased, “time is running out.” He had no choice. Once again, he had no choice but to run. It seemed innocence was a lot farther off than he’d hoped. He let time slip through his fingers and the rogue bullet smashed one of the crystals hanging from the chandelier. The watch rushed in, brandishing blades and hot pistols, crying out in the name of the empress and the fallen lord reagent. He dashed towards the stairs, covering two flights in a second and a wash of bluish mist. The mark on his hand burned with power, craving blood. There was no way he was getting back down to the base of the structure without carving a bloody path to do so. An exploit like that was tempting – now that he finally had nothing left to lose. His hope of restoring Emily stayed his hand. He was no expert in the occult – he hadn’t even believed in such things until the Outsider had paid him a visit – but he knew that rituals, no matter how powerful they seemed, were the deeds of men on earth, and they could be undone. The guards clambered up the stairs behind him, as clumsy as he was swift. The stinging salty hair whipped at his unmasked face. It felt good as the cold tossed through his hair, billowed his cloak. He’d been so close to getting it all back – a life in a palace, with his daughter… now someone had taken it all from him yet again. That ghostly figure of a woman wrapped like a snake around his daughter’s throat. Those days spent in the flooded district winding his way back to the Hound Pits through streets and sewer tunnels. That long trip along the water to the island at the edge of Dunwall… they had left Emily unguarded, and now she was gone. He leapt his way to the highest point of the tower, where the wind was at its fiercest and metal beneath him its coldest. A tin bridge to nowhere, overlooking the vast murky ocean. The guards rounded the corner. The younger ones where terrified, but determined – their lower guard caps swept off on the wind. One of them stepped forwards, braving the creaking, soaked metal. Corvo simply sighed, not wishing to make a spectacle of himself yet knowing that this would make for a daring and popular tavern tale. He leapt off the edge of the lighthouse.

He pulled himself down into a streamlined position, head locked between his arms in hope that his skull would remain relatively un-rattled, repeatedly dashing and re-materialising closer to the water to lessen the impact, as many times as his power would allow. He tried to imagine himself back on the Southern ridges of Serkonos, diving off the sandy cliffs and into clear tropical waters in the summers of his boyhood. It was a difficult image to conjure up, especially given the wailing winds and bitter cold sea-spray battering his body as he fell.

“I’m here,” he tried to say, but he couldn’t speak. It was as if he were drowning, his lungs heaving under the weight of crashing waves, screams muffled into inculminatous bubbles of air.

The void was dark, as if its sunless sky were setting. The bright blue haze was fading to a richer, royal shade, and the grey cobbles stretching out before him crumbled under his weight. She was there – a slight figure on the horizon, clothed in creamy white lace and frills, calling his name.

“Corvo?” She cried, that energetic, child-like tone restored. But only in his dreams. He reached out to her as the void fell away, the hazy blue deepening to dusky sea green.

His eyes began to sting and blur, and his chest burned as his lungs drew in water. The greying sun was a distant wave on the surface of the water, far away. Too far. Emily.

...

“Corvo?” She asked, one final attempt. She knew he wasn’t here. Whales floated by in the blue mists – bloodied and moaning. Upturned stones were suspended in spiralling paths, and trees stood upside-down, reaching down towards the endless void. She’d heard tales of this place. This was a place for the dead and the unfaithful. She was terrified. A coil of dark smoke erupted, spitting fragments of black stone – knitting themselves into the shape of a man. He floated a few inches off the ground, arms crossed, looking down a pointed nose through pitch black eyes. She’d seen him before. A figure of her nightmares. He cocked his head to one side, surveying her without saying a word.

“Who are you?” She demanded, “am I dreaming?” She added, suddenly uncertain. Surely a place like this couldn’t be real, despite the Abbey’s teachings.

“In a way, your majesty, I suppose you are,” his voice was cold, layered as if echoing throughout a great chamber, muffled as if sounding from beneath the surface of a pond. It was eerie, the way his outline shifted and swayed like gas dancing in the air. “Except, this isn’t just any old dream, this, I think you know.” She nodded, and he continued, “this is a dream from which you will never wake, not if the new empress has her way.”

Emily furrowed her brow and put her hands on her hips, indignant at the thought. “But I am the empress, there’s no one else!”

“No, there isn’t," he agreed. “It’s a tricky matter that you will soon understand.” She wished he’d speak plainly. She reminded her of one of her mother’s advisors – so many pretty words that said nothing at all. The late empress had warned her of such people. “As for who I am,” he said, looking past her with those terrible eyes, “I think you know, Lady Emily.”

Of course she did, those pompous overseers always talked of him; an evil being that brought corruption and sin to all it touched. “Y-you’re the Outsider.” She tried to keep her voice from stumbling, an Empress should not fear anything. He didn’t confirm the fact, just smiled thinly. “Am I really going to be here forever?”

“Forever is an impossibly long time, your majesty. Whether here in the void, or looking out of your own eyes, a prisoner. You will be here until someone can undo what has been done. I, however, will be gone much sooner, if the empress has her way.” Before she could ask what he meant, he was gone as he’d appeared; in a swirl of smoke and black stone.

“Wait! –“ she cried out to the empty air. She didn’t want to be alone here. She couldn’t be alone again.

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